Two Little Words
by UConnHusky90
Summary: After making the biggest mistake of his life, Blaine Anderson sits on a stranger's bed, listening to the hiss of a shower. Tortured by his thoughts, he reflects on that time the previous year when he accused the love of his life of being unfaithful. Klaine during "Dance With Somebody" as viewed from "The Break Up". Rated T for language.
1. Why Does It Hurt So Bad

_**TWO LITTLE WORDS**_

**Chapter One - "Why Does It Hurt So Bad"**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of _Glee_, its characters, settings or plot; these belong to Ryan Murphy, Fox Broadcasting, _et al._

* * *

_Sitting on a rumpled bed in an unfamiliar room, Blaine Anderson felt numb. _

_Empty. _

_Dirty._

_The door to the adjacent bathroom was ajar; Blaine could hear the hiss of the shower spray. The sound cut through him more than any shrieking siren possibly could._

_The voice of his former Dalton roommate echoed in his head. "Dude, it's definitely a hook-up if you have to take a shower after," he remembered Jeff wisecracking once for some forgotten reason._

_A hook-up._

_He couldn't believe what had just happened...how he'd _let_ it happen. Thinking about it made his skin crawl. He wanted to run from that room and drive home, fling himself into the shower and scrub himself until he felt clean again. The smell of sex was in the air; Blaine felt like throwing up each time he took a breath.__  
_

_He picked up his phone. When he touched the screen, it lit. _Oh, God._ The Facebook mobile site was still there. __The sight of those fatal messages did his stomach no favors.  
_

Eli.C: Hey there, sexy._  
_

Eli.C: Want to come over?

_The hissing sound of the shower stopped. Blaine heard faint sounds of movement as Eli toweled himself off._

_Blaine didn't even want to lay eyes on the other boy. Not for one second. He logged out of Facebook, hoping that banishing the evidence would make him feel even a fraction better. _

_Wrong. When his wallpaper picture came up, he felt like he'd been slapped across the face. _

_He and Kurt. Holding each other. _

_Smiling. _

_Happy.  
_

_Then it hit him._ Kurt. Oh my God, oh my God ohmyGod._.._

_Clutching the iPhone in his hand, Blaine felt like he'd just been kicked in the stomach..._

* * *

_Chandler__ (April 25): Are you an astronaut? Cause you're out of this world.  
_

Clutching the iPhone in his hand, Blaine felt like he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

_Chandler__ (April 25): I'm pretty sure you were Cleopatra in another life. You've got a great asp! _

There were dozens of text messages. Literally dozens.

_Chandler__ (April 25): __You're like a song. I can't get you out of my head._  


_Chandler__ (10:23am): If you were Jack and I was Rose, I'd never have let go._

_Chandler__ (12:18pm): If I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I'd have a galaxy in my hand._

Funny, flirty quips and cheesy pick-up lines.

_Chandler__ (2:17pm): Your eyes are blue like the ocean. And, baby, I'm lost at sea._

Blaine didn't find them funny.

_Chandler__ (3:33pm): I know your father's a mechanic. You've got a finely tuned body._

He'd only found them by accident. In Kurt's cell_—_in his_ boyfriend's_ cell. Obviously from someone named Chandler.

_Chandler__ (5:37pm): If I could rearrange the alphabet, I would put "u" and "i" together._

Blaine didn't know anyone named Chandler.

_Bzzzzzz._

_Chandler__ (7:40pm): Sing into my voice mail. I want you to be my ringtone._

Obviously Kurt did.

_Bzzzzzz._

And they _kept coming_, one right after the other. Faster. More insistent.

_Chandler__ (7:43pm): When we get to New York, let's go to the front of the Plaza and reenact the ending of The Way We Were._

Blaine flinched. _New York...always New York..._

Kurt was down in the kitchen. Blaine had picked up the phone because of the insistent_—_almost constant_—_vibrating...afraid that it might've been one of their friends...or maybe Burt or Carole, calling from DC...someone desperately trying to get in touch with Kurt. He was trying to be a good boyfriend.

Reading these messages (and, _oh God_, the replies), he couldn't say the same about Kurt right then.

_Bzzzzzzz._

Each buzz heralding a new message sliced into Blaine's heart like a razor-sharp blade.

_Chandler__ (7:46pm): This time next year let's be laughing together._

This was obviously what Kurt had been giggling over during Glee today...and why he'd sat apart from Blaine, rather than in the seat right next to him. He remembered Sam looking over Kurt's shoulder at one point, grinning at something he was reading on Kurt's cell.

And how, after looking over at Blaine, the grin had slid off Sam's face.

He watched as Kurt trotted into the room, smiling and prattling on about stupid cheese plates and _Being Bobby Brown_ marathons.

Wanting and not wanting to know, Blaine held up the offending phone and asked, "Who's Chandler?" trying and failing to keep a pathetic whine out of his voice.

Blaine got his answer when Kurt stiffened up and, in a clipped tone, asked, "Why are you going through my phone?"

The following conversation was unreal. After trying to proclaim that nothing happened (and from the guilty look on his face, Blaine could see that he didn't even believe it _himself_), Kurt actually tried to blame Blaine for this, saying that this Chandler made him feel good. Unlike Blaine, who it appeared had become little deficient in the romance department of late.

It didn't seem to matter that Kurt wasn't actually burning up the ether himself with hot and sexy texts_—_unless he thought Blaine had a secret fetish involving_ peach-colored shoe polish! _And don't think Blaine didn't notice that Kurt never denied liking the guy, instead retorting, "When was the last time _you_ complimented me? Or told me how special I was?"

It seemed Kurt had forgotten that promise ring he'd received at Christmas time_—_and the heartfelt pledge that came with it. As well as the fact that last September Blaine had left Dalton Academy, the Warblers and friends he adored to come to public-school hell where gay bashing was a year-round sport. _Just_ so he could be with the boy he loved.

Oh, _no_. Like that old Janet Jackson song, Kurt was all about the _"What have you done for me _lately?"

Then this hot mess of a discussion took a serious detour through Crazy Town when Blaine again heard this was all his fault___—_this time for being the "alpha gay_". _Whatever the hell that was. Blaine guessed it was a "straight gay man" (thank you, _Sex and the City, _for those clairifiers) whose traditionally masculine good looks made him attractive to _both_ guys and girls. Kurt even threw the infamous drunken kiss at the Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza in his face for the umpteenth time.

Then it was all how that big, mean, attention-whore Blaine made po' wittle Kurty feel all inadequate by stealing all the Glee solos_—_this coming from the same person who had reamed out his stepbrother Finn for expressing the same thoughts earlier this year.

As for the whole thing about texting not really meaning anything...? Hadn't their relationship had already collided with _that _particular can of worms once already? One Blaine had foolishly opened labeled "Sebastian Smythe". And it had almost cost Blaine an eye_—_protecting _Kurt_ from what turned out to be a rock salt-laced slushie facial.

But now, Kurt was actually trying to rationalize his behavior. It was innocent and though Blaine was, for some bizarre reason, upset he insisted "it's okay!"

Blaine couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It's not right...but it's _'okay'?" _he concluded, staring at Kurt, incredulous.

Kurt just sat there, lips stubbornly pressed together, staring at him like _he_ was the crazy one.

Blaine couldn't be there anymore.

Feeling the tears welling up, he turned and left Kurt's room as fast as he could.

He wasn't going to cry.

Surprisingly, Kurt didn't try to follow him as Blaine charged down the stairs. He paused only long enough to fumble his keys out of his pocket. He could see Finn and Sam sitting in the family room.

Finn just stared dumbly as he dashed by. Sam at least managed to rise halfway off the sofa, calling "Hey!" before Blaine was gone, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Speeding away from Lima on I-75, going a good twenty miles over the speed limit and slaloming his way through the slower moving traffic, Blaine was tormented by one thought.

_Kurt cheated. _

Two words Blaine Anderson had never thought he'd utter in his life. The Kurt who got jealous if anyone_—_male or female_—_even looked at Blaine.._.that_ Kurt had just had the gall to tell him what he'd just seen was innocent?

The whole drive home, Blaine ignored his phone. It tortured him by playing his Kurt ringtone: "Teenage Dream". That chance encounter on the staircase at Dalton and the performance in the senior commons seemed like it had happened a million years ago.

Getting off the interstate, Blaine drove wildly through the quiet streets of Oakwood, tires squealing as he took the turns. Finally reaching home, he left his Jag in the driveway and ran up the front walk.

Barely pausing to key in the alarm code, he shoved the front door open with a bang. He didn't care. It wasn't like there was anyone else at home these days to scold him for his behavior_. _Or to even ask him what was wrong. He stalked through the silent house and sank into the well-worn leather wing chair in the library, wrapping a decorative throw around himself.

He pulled out his phone. There were seven missed calls, six voice messages and four texts. All from the name number: _My Kurt_

He stared at the screen, stomach clenched._ My Kurt..._

Then a voice deep inside his head whispered mockingly,_ Hey, shake it off, Blainey boy. "Nothing" happened. Kurt said so. All those texts with that guy, they're "okay", remember? "LOL", right?_

Grimacing, he thumbed his "My Kurt" text thread.

_My Kurt__ (8:19pm): Please come back. _:-(

_My Kurt__ (8:26pm): Why are you so mad? NOTHING HAPPENED!_

_My Kurt__ (8:32pm): You are being ridiculous, Blaine Anderson._

_My Kurt__ (8:39pm): How could you even THINK I would do that to you?_

Blaine chuckled mirthlessly. _And _there_ he is, ladies and gentleman. Stubborn, self-righteous Saint Kurt of Lima. Won't admit he's done anything wrong. Can't even say "I'm sorry". Oh, wait a minute, my bad__—_he did:_ "I'm sorry that this made you upset."_

As Blaine watched the screen, another text arrived:

_My Kurt__ (9:01pm): If you want to be that way - FINE!_

_Are you kidding me?! _Blaine now felt the anger burning in his gut. He knew he shouldn't do what he was about to do, but he couldn't help himself. Now knowing what it was like to "see red", he jabbed a reply into the key pad on his phone, intentionally using "text-speak" because he knew how much Kurt _hated_ it_—_

_**Me**__** (9:02pm): kma! **__**& btw: **__**fuck u 2 ! ! ! **_

_—_and pressed "send" before lobbing it across the room.

He was disappointed when it ricocheted off the wall and landed on the window seat, safely burying itself in the cushions.

He'd wanted to see it shatter into pieces.

Just like his heart.

He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't_—_

Too late.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_**A/N:** I know this isn't going to be the most popular of stories right now. I started writing this in July, after watching "Dance With Somebody" with my girlfriend. After it was over, we both turned to each other and, having one of those "simpatico" moments, said, "You know, Kurt never even said he was sorry." "I was thinking the same thing."_

_I added the beginning after seeing "The Break-Up"._

_I am being naughty and not working on my two other WIPs...but school's getting insane and I'm starting to find myself falling asleep at my desk most nights. Wish you could absorb information via osmosis when you're unconscious with your face planted in the book._

_Let the games begin. Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think._


	2. Where Do Broken Hearts Go

**_TWO LITTLE WORDS_  
**

**Chapter Two - "Where Do Broken Hearts Go"**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of _Glee_, its characters, settings or plot; these belong to Ryan Murphy, Fox Broadcasting, _et al. _The song "It's Not Right But It's Okay" belonged to the late Whitney Houston.

* * *

_Blaine stood motionless in his parents' shower, multiple jets of water blasting him from three sides._

_He was home. He'd started stripping off his clothes as soon as he'd entered the house, trying to escape the sweaty sex smell which permeated each and every garment. His briefs had gone right into the waste basket.  
_

_He wondered how long it would take before the slimy sensation clinging to his skin would wash away. If ever. __He picked up a bar of soap, fragrant suds forming as he tried to make himself feel clean again.  
_

I cheated...

_As he moved the bar over the wet slickness of his skin, he tried to not remember Eli's hands on his body...caressing his shoulders...his chest...sliding down his stomach__—_  


___Nausea began to overwhelm him. _The soap slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. _He leaned against the wall, gagging, trying to swallow away the sour taste building in his mouth. __No good. _

_He could still feel the touch of skin on skin, those hands snaking around his hips...cupping his ass...__spreading his—_

_Blaine suddenly bent over, wracked by dry-heaving. __He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. _

I cheated..._  
_

_He just stupidly shook his head. It had been wrong...it had _felt_ wrong...but he hadn't stopped._ _Hadn't had even a second thought. _

Why?

_Blaine knew the answer. He'd wanted someone who wasn't just a voice on the phone (__those rare times Kurt deigned to answer at all any more). _Someone who wouldn't abruptly hang up on him...who didn't sound uninterested when Blaine tried to talk about something in his_ life__..._

_He wanted someone to want him...to pay attention to him...who wouldn't take him and his love for granted...who might realize how much_ _he was hurting...how he was slowly spiraling downward into the abyss..._

_That's why. That's why he hadn't thought of Kurt...b__ecause it was so obvious that Kurt wasn't thinking about _him _at all_.

_At least, that's what he'd thought. Before he'd... _

_He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to go away. _Oh, God.

_Now all he could think of was __Kurt._

I cheated...

_He slouched there, his naked body pounded by streams of hot water...which were slowly turning warm...then cold. But e__ven when his teeth started chattering, he didn't move to turn off the now icy spray.  
_

_He'd never felt so alone in his life._

* * *

Blaine lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. With the anger burning in his gut competing with the ache in his heart, he couldn't fall asleep.

_Kurt cheated..._

Blaine had wanted to talk to somebody_—_anybody_—_last night. Someone who'd tell him everything would be all right.

He'd actually called Cooper. But had gotten no answer. As usual. He'd considered spilling his guts to his brother's voicemail, but didn't.

He thought about Jeff and Nick, his best friends at Dalton. But he wasn't in the mood for a round of _"I told you so's". _Jeff hadn't wanted him to leave and advised him against transferring; he'd just tell him to "fuck McKinley" and come back where he belonged.

Forget the Glee kids. To them, he was sure he was nothing more than "the boyfriend". None of them had ever tried to get to know Blaine Anderson the individual; he was just the other half of "Kurt-'n-Blaine". They'd be "Team Kurt" all the way...

He'd never felt so alone in his life.

Drifting off, he vaguely registered the sky beginning to lighten outside his window_—_

_—_before his alarm went off.

Head pounding and bleary eyed, Blaine dragged himself out of bed. The half-hour or so of fitful sleep he'd managed hadn't improved his mood. His anger was raw and throbbing, like an open wound, blocking out his despair.

Especially after he'd padded downstairs and extracted his phone from the cushions. Swiping the screen, he saw three missed calls_. _A return call from Coop. And two from...Sam? Who'd also sent him two texts:

_Sam__ (9:34pm): u ok dude - lookd pissd whn u lef - thnk i kno y - __call if u wnt 2  
_

_Sam__ (12:12am): hey - stll up if u wnt 2 tlk_

Sam. Who'd witnessed first-hand the messages blowing up Kurt's phone.

Nothing, of course, from Saint Kurt. Who'd probably gone right on texting back and forth with his little friend last night. Since it made him feel so _special_. In a way Blaine _didn't_ any more.

Before heading up to his bathroom, he deleted the Kurt voicemails from the previous night. He couldn't care less.

Blaine stood motionless in the shower, just letting the water blast him in the face, hoping it would clear his head. He couldn't get the memory of those texts out of his head. _("Are you lost? Because Heaven is a long way from here." Get real, jerk off!)_

_Hey, Blainey boy...maybe they've graduated to sexting by now?_ his mind taunted. And with that pleasant thought, Blaine punched the shower wall. _Shit!_ He'd actually managed to crack one of the tiles. As well as _really_ hurt his hand.

That Kurt felt this kind of texting was innocent was a huge joke_—_especially after the Sebastian debacle earlier this year. Blaine had endured Kurt's endless lectures on how even Blaine's innocent G-rated responses to the Dalton boy's graphic come-on's had been wrong and misleading.

(Just reading Sebastian's smutty text-series entitled "I Know What Boys Like"—and how he wanted to prove it to Blaine_—_had sent Kurt into a sputtering tizzy where his voice went practically ultrasonic. Thank God Blaine had deleted the _pictures_...they would've given Kurt a stroke.)

But Blaine couldn't bring himself to hurt anyone. It wasn't in his nature. Even when the predatory boy had made his intentions obvious, Blaine couldn't cut him loose. He'd seen something else there...something lonely and sad behind Sebastian's swagger and bravado. He'd thought the guy just needed a friend.

Until the New Directions-Warbler face-off in that parking garage.

This guy Chandler, whoever he was, was psychotically texting Kurt, like, every _thirty seconds _with highlights from the crummiest list of pick-up lines Blaine had ever read. How was this different from Sebastian?

Oh, yeah. Unlike Blaine with Sebastian, Kurt was flirting back.

_But that was "okay". He was SAINT KURT...who was NEVER wrong...ALWAYS misunderstood...and DIDN'T have to say "I'm sorry" to anyone!_

After sending that short-and-to-the-point text last night, Blaine had gone down to the exercise room in the basement and, while crying, angrily walloped the bag for over an hour. No good_—_he'd needed something more substantial tp punch than just the name "Chandler". He'd spent the rest of the evening practicing the perfect Whitney Houston song. One that would not only meet Mr. Schue's stupid requirement of "letting go", but express to a certain stuck-up text-cheating boyfriend how Blaine felt as well.

_And the funniest thing of all, _Blaine thought to himself as he gazed into the mirror that morning, taming his unruly hair with a healthy dollop of gel_, Kurt himself had inspired the choice with his own words..._

* * *

Blaine studiously avoided Kurt all day at school. Which wasn't too hard, since it seemed that Kurt was avoiding _him_ in return. The first time he saw him was between third and fourth periods. Kurt was standing at his locker_._

Reading something on that goddamned phone.

His eyes burning, Blaine stopped and went the other direction.

The New Directions kids, so used to seeing "Kurt-'n-Blaine" joined at the hip, gave him puzzled looks all day. Which he ignored. When Mike and Tina asked him at lunch if something were wrong, he just shrugged and focused his attention on his plate of McKinley crap_ du jour_. He'd probably hurt their feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Arriving in the choir room early, Blaine ducked his head into the adjoining office and asked Mr. Schuester if he could be the first for perform. "Sure, Blaine, no problem," the teacher said with a smile, oblivious to both Blaine's tightly pursed lips _and_ the dark circles under the boy's usually laughing eyes.

The Glee kids gradually filed in and sat. Kurt sauntered in, looking none the worse for wear, and took a seat on the opposite end of the risers. Blaine stood and nodded to the band, who started his song's percussive intro.

"This song is dedicated to anyone who's been cheated on," he sneered at a certain indifferent someone.

As he heard Brittany utter some surreal comment about cheetahs, Blaine caught the other kids' wide-eyed reactions to his statement. As well as to the daggers he was so obviously staring at Kurt.

Kurt sat there, avoiding his gaze, arms folded over his chest. "This is insane. I didn't cheat on you."

_What was that, Kurt? Was that an "I'm _sorry_, Blaineykins"? No. An "I was _wrong,_ snookums"? Nuh-uh. Maybe a "Please _forgive_ me, best-boyfriend-in-the-world-who-changed-his-whole- fucking-life-just-for-_me_"? Nope. Well then, Kurt Hummel, love of my life, here are two little words for you...BITE ME!_

Blaine let him have it_—_with both barrels_—_the best way he knew how:

"Friday night, you and your boys went out to eat  
Then _they _hung out  
But _you_ came home around three _(Yes, you did)_  
If six of y'all went out  
Then four of you were_ really_ cheap  
'Cause only two of you had dinner  
I found your credit-card receipt."

Kurt was staring at him in shock, mouth literally hanging open. _Good_.

"It's not right, but it's okay  
I'm gonna make it anyway  
Pack your bags, up and leave  
Don't you _dare _come runnin' back to me."

The other kids started to join in the chorus. They still looked startled by the intensity of Blaine's performance, the venom in his voice. All except Sam_—_and _Rachel_. She obviously knew something about this, too. That figured.

"It's not right, but it's okay  
I'm gonna make it anyway  
Close the door behind you, leave your key  
I'd rather be _alone_ than unhappy."

The other kids were starting to catch on; Mercedes, Santana, Artie, Mike...they were casting judgmental glances in Kurt's direction.

"I pack your bags so you can leave town for a week _(Yes I am)_  
The _phone_ rings, and then you look at me."

_Hah!_ He noticed Kurt shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of the word "phone".

"You said it was one of your friends  
Down on Fifty-fourth Street, boy  
So why did 'two-one-three'  
Show up on your caller ID...?"

His anger swelled as the song went on. Blaine was satisfied to see that Kurt was looking really worried. Like he'd _finally_ realized that something might actually be wrong. That maybe_ he'd_ done something wrong?

That Blaine_—_also known as "that romantically-challenged, attention-whoring big baby"_—wasn't _just being overly sensitive.

"Was it really worth you going out like that?  
See I'm moving on  
And I refuse to turn back  
See all of this time  
I thought I had somebody down for me  
It turns out  
You were making a fool of me-e-ee! _(Yeah)"_

After one more repeat of the chorus, he was finished. Without another word, he gave Kurt the "_bitch, please"_ expression he'd learned from the master himself, spun on his heel and stormed out the choir room.

Behind him, he heard Santana chortle, "S-_nap!"_

Pissed at the world, he stalked down the nearly empty halls. No one had tried to stop him. Not one person in that room had even called after him.

_What did you expect? _his mind mocked.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_**A/N: **Thanks for reading! The reviews and PMs I've gotten were as passionate as I expected and are appreciated._

_Please continue to comment and let me know what you're thinking._


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